This Time Next Year(84)

She wrinkled her nose at him. She’d taken to making this face whenever he said something poetic.

‘Maybe that could be the title of my autobiography,’ she said.

She led him up to her small attic bedroom and he had to hunch to get through the rabbit-hutch-style door.

‘Oh, I love Hopper, I have a print of Nighthawks in my flat,’ said Quinn, instantly honing in on Automat.

‘No way,’ she said, ‘I love his paintings.’ Clearly Quinn didn’t remember she’d been privy to the Amanda conversation outside his office. ‘This school friend of mine, Lacey, she moved away from London when I was fourteen. We stayed in touch writing postcards to each other for a while. She must have had a multipack of Hopper prints, because they were all his. His pictures have that association for me – kind word from a sorely missed friend.’

‘She looks so lonely, doesn’t she,’ said Quinn, looking down at the picture. ‘You want to know why she’s sad.’

‘You think she looks sad? I never thought that, I always thought she looked content in her solitude. I envy her – I’d never be brave enough to have coffee alone with my thoughts.’

Quinn looked sideways at her, still holding the print.

‘That’s a very optimistic outlook.’

‘Leila gave it to me.’ Minnie shrugged, ‘Maybe that’s her world view rubbing off on me.’

As he put the picture down, Lucky sprang through the door and started weaving in and out between Quinn’s legs.

‘Who’s this?’ he said, bending down to stroke the cat’s head.

‘This is Lucky. Lucky hates moving so we have to trick him and pretend it’s some kind of cat game show and he’s won a holiday. You can play the part of the glamorous assistant.’

Minnie had far more boxes than she remembered. It would have taken her at least two trips in an Uber. Willesden was only fifteen minutes’ drive south of her parents’ house. It wasn’t quite as edgy and cool as her previous address in east London, but it had character and her flat wasn’t far from the Tube station. She could afford a place to herself here, even if it was on a rundown estate next to a noisy main road. She and Quinn finally got her boxes and an unhappy cat unloaded into the hall of the new ground-floor flat.

‘It’s nice,’ said Quinn, craning his neck to look into the various rooms of her tiny one-bedroom apartment. To the right of the front door was a small wet room, estate-agent speak for a shower with a toilet in it. ‘Who doesn’t like to wash while they’re on the loo?’

‘I’m sure it’s not as palatial as you’re used to in Primrose Hill, but it’s all mine and it’s blissfully quiet,’ said Minnie. As though on cue, several lorries went roaring past on the road outside, which made them both smile.

To the right of the front door was a kitchen the size of an ant’s nostril, with cupboards stacked three layers high all the way up to the ceiling. There was a small stepladder, presumably used to reach the highest level.

‘You don’t want to keep the booze up there,’ he said, pointing to the top cupboard. ‘Three gin and tonics and this kitchen’s a deathtrap.’ He banged a hand twice on the stepladder.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said.

‘OK, I’ll admit that did sound very dad-like. But can I just say, Minnie, I never had a father figure, so dad jokes are very triggering for me.’

Minnie’s face fell, her eyes darted up to look at him.

‘I had you for a second,’ he said. ‘You had a very concerned look in your eye.’

‘No I did not,’ she said, flicking him on the neck with a finger. ‘You’re an idiot.’

‘Ow,’ he said, laughing as he rubbed his neck. Then he reached out and squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

He walked back through to the hall and picked up another box marked ‘kitchen’. There was a bottle of champagne poking out of the top of it. ‘Good to see you’ve packed the important stuff,’ he said, nodding towards the bottle.

‘Leila gave it to me as a moving-in gift,’ said Minnie. ‘I’ll put it in the fridge.’ She paused, looking up at him. ‘Unless you’d have a glass with me now? There’s probably ice in the freezer. I can’t face unpacking any more boxes today.’

He had that look again, that look by the breakfast van, as if she was tempting him to do something he shouldn’t.

‘I have to drive back,’ he said.

‘Of course, silly idea, it’s warm anyway.’

‘I could have one glass.’

They abandoned the rest of the boxes in the hall and moved through to her sitting room. It was supposed to be a furnished flat, but the living room only contained a small two-seater sofa and a low rectangular coffee table. Though the room was tiny, there was a large window looking out over an empty block opposite, so the light streamed in, making it feel warm and inviting compared to the dark, claustrophobic kitchen. They sat next to each other on the small green and white baize sofa. There was no ice, and no glasses, so they drank the champagne warm out of mugs.

‘So I noticed one of the boxes I carried in was labelled “pie-making kit”,’ Quinn said, looking down into his mug of champagne. ‘Do you think you’ll go back to it one day?’